The Outlaw and the Heir (Isaiah Ranch #4)

Ambrose

The heavy thump of boots was all I needed to realize I’d overslept...again. Beside me, Bear stiffened and lifted his head, ears flopped forward and alert before jumping out of our shared bed. That, of course, resulted in the whole bed shaking violently as his massive body shoved against the mattress, and he hit the floor. I didn't have time to worry because I knew what would happen next, and I needed to head it off at the pass.

"I'm up," I growled, clearing my throat and hoping I sounded awake enough.

"Could've fooled me," my father said in a low voice through the thin wooden door that separated me from the rest of the ranch.

"I'm up," I repeated because I'd learned long ago that trying to explain would just be seen as an excuse, and excuses weren't acceptable for James Isaiah. It also meant admitting I hadn't been up on time, which invited its own set of problems. Problems were complicated, especially when they involved other people, and I liked my life as simple as I could make it.

"Then get moving," he said, sounding far less grumpy than a moment ago. "You still need to eat, and we've got shit to do."

"Yessir," I said, knowing that would contain his anger. My father could be hard, demanding, and unforgiving when it came to his standards, but he wasn't unreasonable. So long as he could see you were willing to pull your weight and do it with some common sense, he could be good company.

I waited, not daring to move and give away my position on the bed until I heard the heavy thump of my father's boots retreat back down the porch. The ranch had a main house, and there was enough room for me there...technically. The fact was, I liked sleeping in the small, claustrophobic cabins near the stables. My sister always wondered why I slept where the rest of the workers did rather than with my family, but...my sister was different from me and would never understand.

"Bear," I rumbled as I slid out of bed, bare feet pressing against the wood as I stretched. I let out a groan as my aching muscles enjoyed the sensation. The big dog backed away from the door, his drooping, dopey face stretched into what I liked to think of as a smile. My brother didn't think dogs could smile, but my brother also didn't believe anything that wasn't told to him by someone with a title...or my father, for that matter. I knew in my gut that Bear could smile, and he did it a lot when he was around people he liked, which didn't include my brother.

I had no idea what kind of dog he was, only that I’d seen the mutt when a trader passed through the nearby town of Rapture five years ago. The man had said the pup was the runt of the litter and no one had any use for him. I did, though, and I disagreed. My father scoffed when I rolled up with the dog, asking what I'd paid for it. There was no way I’d tell him I’d paid the man a dollar for a dog that wasn't a good rancher or hunter as far as we knew, and yet when I refused to tell him, my father had let the subject drop for some reason.

Runt or not, Bear grew up to be bigger than any of the other dogs on the ranch by a considerable amount. My brother thought he was stupid, but I knew better, and I thought my father did too, though he never spoke in the dog's defense. Bear was big enough for my nieces and nephews to ride if they wanted to, but generally, he was with me, always knowing when to keep close and when to keep his distance. Plus, his sense of danger was unmatched by even the most skittish of the animals we had, and I'd yet to find anything dangerous, man or beast, that wanted to test Bear when they spotted him.

Getting to my feet, I knew there wouldn't be much time before my father returned, or worse, sent someone to get me, always a sign that he was truly irritated. I walked over to the chair I’d thrown my clothes on last night and stopped short when I spotted movement out of the corner of my eye. I looked up to find a familiar yet strange face looking back at me. I grimaced when I realized it was the mirror my sister had insisted I take with me despite not needing anything of the sort. My dark hair was kept short and out of my eyes, and a thick nose flattened my face, set off by a broad jaw that some called strong, and green eyes from my mother. My two siblings had our father's dark eyes. My body was strong and covered with dark hair, but there were marks, little scars, and burn marks from a life not easily lived but not awful either.

It wasn't like I needed to worry about my appearance. I only agreed to take the mirror because it had been my mother's. It had once been a beautiful piece of shining glass with a carefully carved wood surround. Now, the glass had fine cracks around the edges, dusty in ways that no rag could clean, and the wood was faded and chipped. But it had been my mother's, so I kept it.

I wasn't a terrible sight, if I were honest. Not the most handsome of men, that much I knew, but I didn't look horrible either. I'd seen how some of the women in Rapture, or some of Lizzie's friends when they made the trek to visit, looked at me. My face might not have been show-stopping, but the sight of me shirtless, covered in sweat and dirt, and working was apparently more than enough to make up for an average face. And then there was the sight of my manhood between my legs, hanging low in the gentle heat of the early morning. It was an attractive sight, though I'd never admit to someone else that any manhood could be interesting to me, not even my own. Still, it would be simple just to reach down and grip myself, to think of?—

Bear barked. It was a low, rumbling woof, but it was enough to jerk me out of my thoughts before they dragged me down some obscure and unneeded path. Wherever they’d been going wasn't important, I had things to do this morning. I scratched his head vigorously before snatching up my clothes to get ready for the day. There was bound to be a good spread waiting for me at the main house, and my stomach rumbled at the thought.

"C'mon," I told Bear as I left the cabin after shoving my feet into my boots. Only the faintest glow of orange at the edge of the horizon gave away that the sun was coming, and we needed to move fast if we wanted to get things done before the land was baked by its unforgiving rays.

"Mornin', ," came a warm voice that I definitely didn't think about when lying alone at night.

"Mornin', Walter," I said to the man who ran our stables. There was no one on the ranch, in Rapture, or I'd bet for several miles, who knew horses like Walter did. My father swore the man could read the mind of any horse and tame or calm even the most temperamental or spooked horse. I did my best not to notice that he was built better than me, had warm eyes that crinkled at the corners, or that the sight of him sent a zany feeling of sharp anticipation through me, like lightning moments before it shot through the sky.

"Slow to wake up?" he asked with an easy smile while he brushed down one of the horses.

"Not really," I said because there was no point in admitting what my father had suspected.

"I bet," he said with a wink that did nothing to help push away the thoughts I'd been having in front of the mirror. They were thoughts that didn't have anything to do with the appreciation of my own body but rather with the idea of someone else's body being there. That wasn’t much better as far as I was concerned and none of anyone else's business.

"Daddy, I got the feed," a young voice piped up, and I turned to see Walter’s son, Arthur, standing near me with a huge pail clutched in his hands. The boy was nearly eight, dependent on his father to raise him. His mother had died giving birth to him, something we shared, but his father never held that against him, which wasn't something I was so sure I could say. Walter was a damn fine father who had been teaching his son everything he knew but still making sure to spend time with him that didn't involve work.

"Nicely done, Arthur," Walter said warmly, waiting until the boy approached with the pail before ruffling his hair and beaming down at him. "You remember where it gets dumped. Be my guest, and then you can help me with Devil."

The boy's eyes lit up, and I couldn't help but smile at his sheer enthusiasm for a job a man three times his age would see as a chore. Then again, my nieces and nephews still approached everyday crap with the same sort of excitement. Sometimes, I thought grown men and women could do with some of that starry-eyed enthusiasm, but other times, I knew that without salt and earth in your blood, you would float into the sky and not get a lot done.

"He seems to be doin' well," I said, watching the boy, humming as he went to deposit the feed that undoubtedly wasn't all that large a delivery. But he was only seven, and there was time to learn how to work harder and faster down the road. For now, it was enough that he was growing to love the work and listen to his father. Everything else could come later.

"Don't tell your sister that," Walter said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes despite looking otherwise genuine. "Seems to think he needs a 'woman's touch' in raising him."

I sighed. “You want me to talk to her?"

"To your sister? Nah," he said with a snort. "She is who she is, and nothin' any of us says or does is gonna change that. All you Isaiahs are like that, hardheaded like a mule, but you mean well...most of you."

I didn't have to ask who didn't. It wasn't exactly a well-kept secret that my brother wasn't loved among most men working the ranch, especially the few main house staff. Not that Joseph cared about being loved. Not even on the day he was wed or when his wife had his children. All that mattered to my brother was ensuring everything ran smoothly and, even more importantly, bringing in a profit he could build on. That didn't lend itself to making him care about his fellow man or even pay attention to most of them.

"I'm pretty easy," I said with a shrug, knowing that while my last name carried weight that I sometimes wished it didn't with guys on the ranch, it didn't count for anything with some, like Walter.

Walter snorted. “Please, only one who can match your hardheadedness is your father. And with a few more years under your belt, you might even beat him in that."

I didn't know about that, but I wasn't going to argue. It was no secret that my father was set in his ways and wasn't prone to changing his mind once he was focused on something. Yet even I had to admit he could change his mind when given enough time and evidence, though that wasn't an easy standard to fulfill.

"I best get up there," I said, nodding toward the main house. "If I don't get a couple of morning meals in?—"

"You catch hell," he said with a nod. "Go on then. I'm sure I'll see you later."

I nodded and resumed walking toward the house. It was big, at least compared to other buildings on the property or anything in Rapture. Lizzie said there were other ranches with bigger houses, but I didn't see the point in having more rooms. There was enough space to house my family, down to the kids, and still have rooms for any guests we might have...and usually didn't. Adding more seemed unnecessary but I didn't know much about 'appearances' my sister was constantly going on about.

Mounting the steps, I entered the house without hesitation. Despite sometimes feeling like a stranger among my family, it was still supposed to be my home. The fact that my small cabin felt more like home than anywhere else ever had wasn't all that relevant as far as other people were concerned. I was an Isaiah, and this was the Isaiah home, built by my grandfather before his untimely death at the hands of a particularly angry steer.

"Good morning, sir," one of the house staff said, dipping her head and pausing her cleaning of a set of horns hung low on the entryway wall. The room was larger than my cabin, splitting in three directions from the entrance and housing a lot of trophies. My sister had been trying to talk my father into adding another floor to the house, though I didn't know how much success she’d had. I didn't really get the point of adding another floor, but she probably had a plan and reason in mind.

"Morning..." I began, searching for her name and coming up blank. I'd never been good with names, but Lizzie had recently called for a change in house staff, and I hadn't visited often enough to learn all the new names. "Sorry, I forgot."

Which should have earned a scowl, or at least a blank look considering she was 'staff,' but instead, she smiled. “Alice, sir."

"Well, good morning, Alice. I hope they haven't made you work through the night," I said. My older siblings could be difficult when it came to the staff. Joseph was demanding for the sake of the standards he thought he inherited from our father, without our father's ability to measure people or his understanding. Which meant he was purely demanding until his exact standards were met with no middle ground. Lizzie was just...well, I loved my sister, but she could be quite spoiled. Sometimes, she was so caught up in her ideas and dreams that she forgot about reality, and sometimes, that reality involved other people being...people.

Alice flashed a smile in my direction. “No, sir. Miss Elizabeth has been most kind to us; there is no need to concern yourself."

Now I’d heard her speak, I recognized her if only because her accent made her stand out. I didn't know where she was from, but I knew it was nowhere around here or close, for that matter. It differed from the other girls who cleaned the house and looked after the family's needs. My sister was considered well-read and undoubtedly handpicked the house staff.

"That's good," I said, not feeling like that encompassed much of anything but knowing there wasn't much else for me to say. After a moment of awkwardly sharing a stare, I turned and headed down the left-hand hallway. It had been the original part of the house before my father started expanding before I was born. It showed in the way the wood creaked under my footsteps. It was where the guest rooms were, but it was also where the cooking and dining area was, the first for the staff assigned to make meals for us and the second for family only.

My family was waiting for me as I entered, all sitting around the circular table that had, again, been my sister's idea. It gleamed with fresh polish, and I sat between my sister's oldest son and my brother's youngest daughter. It put me across from my siblings and father, but I felt more at ease with my nephews and nieces than the rest.

"Morning, Alma," I said with a faint smile at my niece, earning a bashful smile from the six-year-old as she tried her best to maintain her composure. My brother was even more of a stern father than ours was and demanded the best from his children. Alma's best was apparently an attempt to emulate her aunt as well as she could. Still, a six-year-old girl could only emulate the dignity and airs of a full-grown woman with years of practice, so I got a giggle that was more childish than dignified and considered it a victory.

"And a good morning to you, ," Elizabeth said as she stared at me from across the table. Her smile was bright, but I could see the bother in her eyes as she picked up a piece of bread to nibble on. "I was afraid you wouldn't join us today."

"She means she thought you were going to eat with the pigs again," Joseph said with a snort as he stabbed his fork through a thick cut of pork and dragged it onto his plate. "Since you seem to like their company better."

"I don't eat with the pigs," I said, frowning at his words alongside his food choice. Not that I was an expert on what was classy but that just felt...classless. We'd all been raised to think of the animals as beasts to be herded and slaughtered, taken care of to a degree, of course, but no more than that. But I doubted my siblings had ever looked into the eyes of some of the animals we’d kept and really looked.

Pigs were far smarter than people thought, or at least I thought so. You only needed to look in their eyes and really see them to know there were thoughts behind those eyes and obnoxious sounds. I had watched some of our cows and seen the way they formed groups or preferred one cow over another as if they had friends the way people did. The sheep weren't bright, but they could look up at you with their big, empty-of-thought eyes, and you could feel the trust deep in their souls that you would take care of them because that was what they knew.

Sometimes, animals were better than people...and simpler.

"Staff, pigs," he said with a shrug as he picked up a plate to add a pile of eggs as if he wasn't comparing humans to animals.

"Enough of that," my father rumbled, shooting his eldest a dirty look before picking up a steaming pile of bacon.

"Sorry, Father," Joseph muttered, but I could see how he glanced my way, shooting me a scowl as if it were my fault he’d been chided. Then again, right or wrong, Joseph had always blamed me for things. I didn't blame him; I had killed our mother when he was seven, and that had to be impossible to forgive. Or at least, he had never forgiven me, and I couldn't forgive myself. "Just a joke."

"Well, it is nice to see you," Elizabeth added hastily, smiling. "We don't get to see you all that often, and I miss you. And I know the children miss you too."

That was met with varying degrees of agreement from the kids, which warmed me more than my sister's words. The kids were still young, given work and expectations, but not yet weighed down by everything around them. To have them like me meant more than anything, except for my father's approval, a hope I could never quite shake.

"I'm sure he's been busy working," Joseph told her, and while it sounded light enough, I could feel the annoyance and the dismissal.

My brother and sister never understood why I didn't care about the same things they did and with different degrees of hostility. As far as Joseph was concerned, my disinterest in the business was close to not caring about the family, especially its future. On the other hand, my sister was simply confused as to why I wouldn't want to let others do the work when we were more than capable of letting them, especially with our family's gains in the last decade.

And our father? Well, he’d never been all that fond of me, and it was impossible to know what was really going on in his head.

"I have, actually," I said, taking some of the eggs but avoiding the pork now I had the image of intelligent eyes staring at me from the dirt and muck. "There's a lot of hard work to be done out there. It's not all numbers and bookkeeping that makes this place run."

Hostility flared in my brother's eyes, but they darted to my father, and his mouth remained a thin line before he shoved cooked meat into it with a sloppy, wet noise. I knew someone like my brother was good for the ranch's prosperity. Book learning, math, and all that was good when you started growing and aimed to build even higher, and while I didn't like him as a person, I respected him for what he did.

The problem was I always suspected my brother never had the same attitude toward me and what I did. Maybe it was just who he was as a person. Maybe it was because I’d killed our mother by being born, or perhaps that was just what God had determined for us both. Whatever it was, it amounted to the fact that my brother and I would never see eye to eye on anything, and as the future head of our family, he had the right to steer things in the direction he thought, no matter what I felt.

"All that work can't be good for you," Elizabeth threw in before anyone else could say anything. To her credit, she sounded genuinely concerned as she stared over her cup of coffee and watched me. "I mean, you're not getting any younger, . What do you have right now?"

I knew what she meant, but I answered the question as it was presented. “I have my work, I have Bear, I have my family. What else could I need?"

"A family of your own," she said with a sigh that said how dense she thought I was. "How many times have I tried to get you set up with a woman, a perfectly good woman, so that you could marry and have children of your own?"

"Counting is not really my thing," I told her dryly. She meant well, of course she did, but damned if it wasn't annoying to be reminded of her constant attempts at matchmaking, all of which failed in a fashion ranging from banal to spectacular.

"Even I have lost track," she said with a sigh. "Numerous, perfectly suitable women, and you have shown zero interest. What about your happiness, brother?"

"Or the family name," Joseph added unnecessarily.

I looked around the table, seeing four nephews and two nieces before giving a soft snort. “I think the name is just fine. Plus, shouldn't it be your blood that matters most to you?"

"I don't know what you mean," Joseph said, lying through his teeth since we both knew he considered his everything greater and more important than me, or even Lizzie, could provide.

"And I am happy," I told Lizzie, sliding my eyes away from my brother before things turned into another subtle sparring match. "I don't need a wife or children to be happy. That's what you and Joseph wanted and have. I don't need that to be happy."